[ The brush of contact sends a flare of warmth through him, familiar and unfamiliar by turns. He and Emma have grown closer over the months, that much was true, and now that a touch from him wasn't liable to send her into a shivering, terrified fit, she was more liable to brush against him – accidentally, sometimes, or purposefully. A quick nudge or poke. A shove or a smack on his arm, if he said something particularly rude.
This is different. This is Emma Cullen atop him, hands pressed against his chest and lips so devastatingly close he can taste them – could, if only he had the nerve to press his luck. This is such a mocking echo of intimacy that he aches with it, feels something lurch behind his sternum like he's been knocked off-balance all over again.
And then she shifts away, and he his skin tingles with the loss. He licks his lips as he moves to push himself up further, awkwardly nudging the chair further away, where it had clattered down with them. ]
Sure you're alright? [ Though he asks it without looking at her, hands busying themselves with plucking up the cards from the wooden floor. ]
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This is different. This is Emma Cullen atop him, hands pressed against his chest and lips so devastatingly close he can taste them – could, if only he had the nerve to press his luck. This is such a mocking echo of intimacy that he aches with it, feels something lurch behind his sternum like he's been knocked off-balance all over again.
And then she shifts away, and he his skin tingles with the loss. He licks his lips as he moves to push himself up further, awkwardly nudging the chair further away, where it had clattered down with them. ]
Sure you're alright? [ Though he asks it without looking at her, hands busying themselves with plucking up the cards from the wooden floor. ]